Gone Too Far
by sinceyoufellinlovewithme
Summary: We know Robert feels guilty that it took him a year to fall in love with Cora, after marrying her for her money. But is there more to his guilt than that?
1. Chapter 1

AN: This story comes from an idea I had while writing the fifth chapter of "Unexpected," but it's not meant to be compatible with all the events of that story - this is all precanon, and it's a separate precanon universe than the one I created for the early chapters of "Unexpected." In this story, I'm using the date given for Robert and Cora's marriage in season 1 (1888) rather than the one given in season 5 (1890). The title comes from Cora's speech to Robert in season 5 that prompts him to return to her bedroom.

So without further ado, I hope you enjoy! (And please review.)

_Standard disclaimer: Nope, don't own DA._

* * *

**March 1889**

"Robert?"

Cora was lying in his arms, her head against his chest, his fingers lightly running through her hair. She felt as though she were slowly melting into him.

"Hmm?" he responded.

She lifted her head, propping herself up on her arm. The loss of the skin-to-skin contact got his attention immediately. "What is it, love?"

_Love._ It had been only six weeks since he'd first told her he loved her, and she was still counting the hours and the seconds of her new life.

Oh, she had thought he might love her before then; it wasn't as though there had been a sudden, radical shift. They had grown steadily closer over several months, and she had known he was slowly falling for her. But she had not let herself believe that he might unbutton his English sensibilities enough to tell her and to sink completely into this bliss.

"I'm pregnant," she said softly, plainly.

_"What?"_ He sat up immediately, his eyes wild, and she laughed at his reaction.

"Already?" he asked.

It seemed a strange question, considering they had been married over a year now, but then she realized what he meant, and she laughed again. "Not from what we've just done! From…from an earlier time!"

"There's going to be a baby," Robert said, as though he could not quite imagine the idea.

"Yes, in the fall." She paused, not sure how to take his expression. "Are you…happy?"

"Oh, my darling," he said, cupping her cheek in his hand. "I'm happier than you can imagine." He kissed her, slowly and gently, and she leaned into his lips.

She vowed once again that he would never know about last spring. He did not deserve the guilt, and their happiness together, she thought, was far too fragile to bear such weight.

And it did not matter now, she reminded herself. This time would be very different.


	2. Chapter 2

**May 1888**

Cora awoke to the sound of the dressing gong, groaning slightly at its suggestion that she rise. _Not so soon, _she thought. Hadn't she just lain down? _Two more minutes, _she promised herself. _Two minutes, and I'll open my eyes._

But she must have drifted off again, because the next thing she heard was her maid's voice. "Milady?" the older woman said gently. Cora opened her eyes, finding, as usual with these afternoon naps, that her nausea and headache had faded, but her ever-present exhaustion was still with her. "Milady, the gong's rung. I'd have left you to sleep, but there's the party tonight, and I thought you'd wish to—"

"Thank you, Brooks. I do wish to go." She didn't, really—she'd grown to hate these sorts of things in the three months she'd been married to Viscount Downton—but she knew feigning illness and staying behind while the others went off to Haxby Park would only prompt snide remarks from her mother-in-law about the weak constitutions of Americans.

Cora sat up, wincing at the sharp pain she felt suddenly in her back. She stretched, trying to ease it.

"Are you all right, milady?"

"I think I must've slept in an odd position," she said. The pain settled into a dull ache in her lower back as she stood. "But please dress me; I'm sure it's getting late." She'd arrived a few minutes late to dinner one night last month after changing her mind about how she wanted her hair done, and the Countess of Grantham's reaction had given Cora a horror of ever being anything less than punctual ever again.

She let Brooks remove her dressing gown and re-lace her corset, smiling as her maid asked if it was quite loose enough—the opposite of how she'd used to phrase that question. There had been no discussion of why, and Cora appreciated her maid's discretion in not remarking on the new absence of her monthly bleeding. She did not want to share her secret with anyone but Robert just yet…and she had not yet shared it with him, as their time alone was scarce and her own nervousness had kept her from finding the right moment.

She was soon dressed in an evening gown, her hair piled elaborately atop her head, and she joined her husband and his parents in the entrance hall, following Robert out to the waiting carriage. She was not sure whether or not she was glad to see that they would be traveling separately from his parents—it meant she did not have to spend two forty-minute rides cooped up with her mother-in-law, but it also meant that Robert planned for them to stay longer at the party, with the earl and countess making an earlier escape.

But perhaps tonight would be different, Cora told herself as Robert helped her into the carriage. He had given her one of those smiles that always made her blush, she had felt the familiar tingle through her body as he took hold of her arm, and she let herself hope that this evening might be more like the balls of her season, when he had hovered in hopes of another open place on her dance card, instead of the parties she'd grown used to as a wife, where her husband danced once with her and then disappeared into a crowd of friends and acquaintances of many years.

Once they were seated in the carriage, he studied her, and she felt her cheeks grow warm under more attention than she was accustomed to.

"Are you feeling all right, Cora? You've seemed tired."

_I'm pregnant, _she wanted to say. _We're going to have a baby._ She was alone with him. She could tell him right now. "Actually," she began, "I…I'm…"

She stared at him, the words faltering on her lips as she suddenly found herself unable to give voice to her condition. _I love him, _she told herself. _Why can't I _tell _him about the baby? _But she suspected the former answered the latter. She did love him, and it made her fear his reaction. Oh, not that he wouldn't be pleased—she knew Robert wanted a son and heir, and then a houseful of children to continue their line. But what if pleased was all he was? What if his English coldness left him unable to feel anything beyond satisfaction that there may be an heir on the way in a few months? What if he simply nodded and thanked her, the latest and most brutal in a string of evidences that he did not love her? What if he were not delighted as she was at the thought of this as _their _child, at the idea that _they _had created life _together_?

"I'm quite all right," Cora finally said. "Just a bit tired. I…perhaps I haven't slept as well, lately."

"If you're sure…"

"I am," she said firmly. "Thank you, I am."

"I think you'll like the Russells," he said after a brief pause. "Rosamund thinks the viscount may be near to announcing his own engagement soon, to a Lady Jane Gordon."

She hadn't realized she'd been hoping for another American until he said the name. "And where does Lady Jane come from?" she asked. The other aristocratic families were one of the few subjects she had discovered that he could discuss confidently with her, and he did not disappoint. She was grateful for the monologue at the moment, too wrapped up in the knowledge that her secret would evidence itself in a matter of months if she did not find a way to force the words out.


	3. Chapter 3

They soon arrived at Haxby Park, a seeming castle even larger and grander than Downton, and Cora let Robert help her down from the carriage. She wished, as she alighted, that her stiff corset didn't prevent her from stretching her back again—what had been a dull ache when she'd left home earlier had shifted to a steady throbbing after forty minutes of bouncing along rough country roads.

Cora sighed, pressing her hand against it and promising herself that she would ask Brooks to draw her a warm bath when they returned.

Robert frowned. "Are you all right?"

"Just stiff from the carriage," she said quickly. She could certainly not tell him anything here, and she was increasingly certain that the pain was due to some new change in her body and not to her sleeping position.

"Will you dance, then?" he asked, and she smiled.

"Of course." She loved to dance with him, more than anything, and she easily forgot her worries as he escorted her inside and onto the magnificent dance floor. This was how she'd first fallen for him, she thought as they twirled—she in his firm arms at one of her first balls, almost giddy at the way he studied her with a look of intense concentration as she'd babbled on about the excitement of her arrival in London.

"Miss Levinson," he'd said, kissing her hand when the music had ended, "will I see you again tomorrow night?" She'd nodded, and he'd pressed on. "May I see you again before then? Do you have another space on your dance card?"

She'd pretended throughout the season that his eagerness had nothing to do with her fortune and everything to do with his feelings for her, but once the excitement of planning and executing the wedding was done, she found herself alone with him on an excruciatingly awkward tour of Italy. He seemed to have very little to say to her, and in her own nervousness she had very little to say to him. And then they had returned to his family's estate, where her ignorance of English ways had displayed itself in more ways than she could have imagined, where her mother-in-law expressed her disapproval with sighs and humorless laughs and sharp comments, and where her realization that she was wholly unsuited as Robert's future countess grew each day. To Robert himself, she was nothing more than a duty he fulfilled a few nights a week. He did not seem to mind her company, but he did not seem to long for it, either.

When the dance ended, he kissed her hand and murmured something about finding her later. Cora nodded and tried to smile, but her heart was dragging on the hardwood floor. Tonight, of course, would be like every other party where she lingered on the edge of the room, trying to ignore Robert as he flitted amongst friends and relations whom she could never keep straight, accepting the occasional dance. It was not so much that she took offense—Lord knew she was nervous with him as well—as it was that she ached for it to be different, ached for him to long to be near her as she did him.

* * *

"I'm glad I'm getting to see so much of you this evening," Rosamund said with a smile. "It's been so long since we've had a good chat."

Cora gave her half a smile in return. She was only seeing so much of Rosamund at this party because Mr. Painswick, whom her sister-in-law had chased after in recent months, was not present this evening.

And thus she had endured a lengthy monologue on all of Rosamund's recent shopping trips. Cora did not dislike Robert's sister and would have been grateful for her company, but her back was worse and she was beginning to wish she'd stayed behind.

It was a worse party than usual. Robert had spent much of it not mingling or switching from unknown dance partner to unknown dance partner, but alternating his dances with the same two ladies again and again. She had seen them both before at balls, seen them hang on Robert and Robert hang on them, but she'd convinced herself that they were cousins she could not place. Yet there was no mistaking their flirtatious giggles this evening, nor was there any mistaking the pride Robert appeared to take in their attentions.

"Who is that?" she burst out at last, and Rosamund raised her eyebrows.

"Who, dear?"

"The lady in blue, over there."

"You mean the one dancing with my brother? That's Caroline—Viscountess Sandon now. An old friend of mine."

"So she and Robert grew up together." Cora wasn't sure if she found that comforting or threatening.

"Yes, and then a few years ago she married her viscount."

If Caroline were married herself, then surely there wasn't much to this… "And who was that other lady he was with earlier?"

"I think you must mean Lady Merton. Married the baron last year. We've known his family for years, and I've always quite liked him. I'm afraid I can't say the same for her. She threw herself at Robert quite openly before she realized there was no money, and I think she saw herself as very much settling for a lesser prize in Dickie."

The relief Cora had felt at hearing that Lady Merton was also married evaporated. "Threw herself at Robert?" she asked, trying to keep her voice casual. From what she had seen, there was nothing past tense about it.

Rosamund gave her a look of surprise. "Well, of course. Quite a lot of women did—Caroline as well! The whole world didn't know he needed an heiress, at least not at first. Now everyone's married, of course. But you know how these things can go!" Rosamund laughed. "I don't think you should worry now, though—you have a few years before any of them are truly free, and by then you may be—"

"Please excuse me."

"Cora! Cora, wait!" she heard Rosamund call out behind her, but she ignored it as she hurried out of the party, past the entrance hall, and into an empty corridor.

Cora had understood exactly what her sister-in-law had meant. She could well remember the knowing looks her friends had given her when she'd announced she was off to the season in London. How many times had she been warned that the English aristocracy was infamously liberal in its sexuality? It was no secret that ladies were expected to provide their husbands with an heir and a couple spares and were then free to pursue an affair with the man of their choice. A husband, of course, was welcome to have a mistress from the beginning.

She did not think Robert had taken a mistress yet, but it had never occurred to her that he would at any point want to. Childishly, she'd imagined that he'd fall more deeply in love with her over the years, and neither of them would ever have any reason to so much as glance at another. Her own immaturity—for that was what it was, she now knew—had led her to believe that they would be the exception to the Edwardian world.

And now Cora was realizing that Robert spent social occasions in the arms of other women because he hoped to spend his _life_ in the arms of other women. His disinterest in her would not change, it would only grow, and his taking a mistress was not a matter of _if_, only of _when _and _whom_. How logical that he would turn to the women he'd originally been interested in before he'd bowed to duty and married a stupid, foolish American girl in order to prop up his estate.

A stupid, foolish American girl who was now dutifully producing an heir. As her tears spilled over, Cora pressed her hand to her stomach as though to protect her child from the knowledge that it symbolized nothing more than _duty_, that it had not been created in the love she'd always expected, that its father would never look on it as anything more than a means to an end…much as he looked at her.

She wished she could be more…what? What was it he _wanted_? Someone more English? With more English character, in place of the emotions she wore on her sleeve? Or with more Anglo-Saxon looks, instead of the dark hair that harkened to her father's Semitic roots? Or just someone else entirely? She was not sure which was worse: to tell herself that she'd never had a chance to make him love her, or to imagine that her marriage might have played out differently if she'd only been someone else.


	4. Chapter 4

"I wish you'd come to find me," Robert said awkwardly as the carriage pulled away from Haxby. "I would have taken you home." Near the end of the evening, he had gone to look for Cora and found her, with the help of the Russells' butler, in a side sitting room, her face pale and drawn. She had a headache, she claimed, and had wanted to get away from the noise.

"It didn't matter so much as all that," Cora said, her voice flat. "I'm fine. And you were very busy."

Guilty, he looked away from her. He knew she was upset at how he'd spent yet another party ignoring her. He also knew her annoyance was justified.

Robert _liked _Cora; truly, he did. He'd chosen her from among scads of American heiresses not only for her beauty but also for her bright spirit, her warmth, and her easy enthusiasm, but it was all of that that had left his so wrongfooted since he'd married her. He did not know what to do or to say in the presence of such foreignness, and he found her ready emotions and her tendency to swing from excitement to disappointment to tears to laughter disarming and confusing. And, he would admit only to himself, he felt quite guilty for marrying her anyway, when he knew he had done so primarily for her money, while she seemed nearly in love with far more than his title.

And so, when he was presented with a crowd of familiar friends and acquaintances, his natural reflex was to dive in, like a drowning man suddenly presented with a roomful of oxygen.

Tonight, he had spent much of his time with Viscountess Sandon and Lady Merton. He had been seeing a fair amount of both ladies lately and was guiltily aware that he was likely giving both of them the wrong impression. He had no interest in either, but he suspected they were both jockeying to become his mistress at some point in the future, a position that he never intended to fill. The idea of taking a mistress struck him as an affront to his own honor, an unnecessary complication in life, and, he admitted, an action that would only make him feel guiltier over Cora. Yet their obvious interest flattered him immensely, and they were so much easier to be with and to understand.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Robert asked Cora again, trying to sound gentle instead of nervous.

She gave him a listless shrug in response. "I suppose."

Of course she wasn't, and he berated himself for it, knowing it had far more to do with his perpetual abandonment of her than any headache. But he did not press her, relieved that she was not going to give herself over to an American display of emotion. He hated himself for his relief, but there it was.

They passed the rest of the trip in silence, and when they arrived at Downton, he stepped out first and then helped her down from the carriage. She did so stiffly, with a small intake of breath.

"Cora…" Perhaps she truly _was _ill?

"I'm fine," she said firmly, striding into the house. Their coats were taken by the butler, and Robert did not break the silence again until they had reached the top of the stairs.

"Please let me know if you should need anything," he said uncertainly.

She turned to him, and for the first time, he saw tears shining in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "Robert, I truly am sorry."

"What?" He stared at her, far more confused than usual.

"I'm sorry," she said again, her voice climbing in pitch as her tears threatened to spill over. "I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment to you. I wish I _weren't_!"

And with that, she burst into sobs, spun around, and darted off to her bedroom.

* * *

"Come now, my lady, what's all this?" Brookes asked kindly.

Cora had thrown herself sobbing on the bed after leaving Robert in the hallway, weeping for she didn't know how long at her own foolishness and inability to get it right, at his coldness and arrogance and disregard, and at the child they had made together that she couldn't even find the words to tell him existed. She had nearly made herself ill, only eventually calming herself enough to contemplate sleep and to ring for her maid. Her hiccups and dry sobs were by no means gone when Brookes arrived, though, and the maid found her sitting huddled on the edge of the bed, her face swollen and her eyes red.

"I'm not right," she said thickly, wiping her eyes. "I'm not _right _for this life!" Hadn't everyone in America, everyone but her mother, told her as much?

"I'm sure that's not true, milady. I think Lord Downton—"

"Oh, not him, he certainly doesn't think so." Cora shook her head. "He should've married someone else. And now the baby…"

"Ah, I thought as much, milady. I thought as much."

The kindness in her maid's eyes brought the tears on again, and Cora accepted the handkerchief she was offered.

"Do you think, ma'am, that that may be why you feel this way?" Brookes spoke delicately, as though nervous to offend her employer. Cora stared at her, not comprehending. "That is, ma'am, perhaps you're more emotional because you're carrying a child. I've seen it in many of my ladies."

Cora shrugged. She did not think she would have been happy to think of Robert taking a mistress, regardless of her condition.

"Shall we get you to bed, milady? Things will look brighter in the morning."

Cora nodded. She doubted that, but she wanted nothing more than her bed and the numbness of sleep.

She stood and let Brookes undress her, sighing and stretching when her corset was removed.

"Did I have it too tight, milady?"

"No, it's only that my back aches."

"Still?" Brookes frowned. "It's quite a bit early for that."

Cora did not respond as Brookes slipped her nightgown over her head. She did not much care at the moment why she was hurting; she only wanted to get to bed. Her maid moved a pillow from the settee to the back of the dressing table chair before Cora sat down, and she leaned back against it, letting herself be soothed by the gentle brushing of her hair as it was plaited. Soon Brookes was drawing back the covers for her to slip into bed.

"Milady, would you like me to bring you a hot water bottle for your back?" the maid offered as Cora lay down.

"Yes, please," she said, remembering as Brookes departed her wish hours earlier for a warm bath. She mused that it sounded so very unappealing now in contrast to sleep.

Cora sighed. She was slowly noticing, now that she was relaxed and calm, that there was a gnawing pain growing in the pit of her stomach as well, and she toyed with asking Brookes for a second hot water bottle when she returned. But no, she ought not to force her maid to make yet another journey back up here when it was already so late. Her stomach wasn't so bad, and there was probably nothing more to it than not having eaten much tonight. Cora murmured a soft thank you when Brookes returned to quietly slip the bottle against her back, and she was soon asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Cora woke with a gasp. She knew instantly what had awakened her: the pain in her stomach and back had intensified, as though an iron hand were squeezing her waist. She had barely had time to process that something was wrong, desperately wrong, before she realized the sheets beneath her were damp, as was her nightgown.

Trying not to panic, she rose and reignited the lamp. In the light, there was no doubt that the puddle on the sheets was the dark red of blood.

_I've killed it, _she thought immediately, blaming her wild tears of the night before. Surely such emotions could not have been good for an unborn child; surely her hysterical sobbing had not been healthy. _Why _had she let everything with Robert upset her so?

Almost dazed, she stood still for a moment. She could call no one but Brookes, could trust no one but Brookes, and she had no way of calling her maid in the middle of the night. She could ring, but who would hear? Would some other servant arrive instead?

Suddenly, Cora felt a wet trickle sliding down her left leg, and she hurriedly bent to wipe it away. The realization that she was still bleeding and was likely to soon have a mess on the carpet spurred her to action, and she hurried to her wardrobe to take out another nightgown, new underwear, and one of her cloth pads. She stepped into the washroom and pulled off the soiled nightgown and underpants, fighting nausea at the sight of all the blood on both and tossing them on the floor for Brooks to dispose of later. She considered trying to bathe, but it seemed too messy of an undertaking on her own, and thus she wet a towel to wipe off her thighs and clean herself as best she could. Then she dressed in the fresh clothing and, trembling, returned to her bedroom.

She stood still for a moment, suspiciously regarding her bed. She could lie back down on the opposite side, but her nose was full of the sharp scent of blood, and she could not bring herself to get so close to the stain, so close to–to the place where _it _had happened.

And so Cora wrapped herself in her dressing gown and moved gingerly to the chaise, curling up there instead. It was not as though she would sleep anyway.

A dry, shuddering sob shook through her, but her horror and her guilt were such that she could not cry. If _only_ she'd been calmer last night. She cradled her stomach, whispering apologies to her unborn child.

Why hadn't she been more _careful_? She was angry with herself suddenly, and angry with Robert, too. Why hadn't he been more considerate, gentler with her, especially since…but of course, he hadn't known she was pregnant. She was angry with herself for blaming him when he hadn't known, and angry with herself for not having told him—and how could she _ever _tell him, now?—and angry with him for making it so _difficult_ for her to tell him. And she was angry with Viscountess Sandon and Lady Merton, and with Rosamund for not trying to hide it all from her. But most of all, she hated herself for the carelessness of her tears.

Cora whimpered as she attempted to move into a more comfortable position. No one had ever told her how much a miscarriage could hurt, but her stomach felt as though it were on fire, and her back muscles had seized in response. She wanted Robert, but she refused to cry out for him; she wanted Brooks, but she was afraid to ring in the middle of the night and have someone else come instead; and the young girl in her—she was still two months shy of twenty—wanted her mother, but Martha Levinson was an ocean away.

She dozed off briefly, only to dream of blood and an empty blanket in her arms that held no infant, and she awakened with a start to see the beginnings of dawn creeping in her window. The servants would be up soon, she told herself as she tried to push the nightmare from her mind, and she could call Brookes, and at least then she would no longer be _alone_. When the sky had lightened enough for Cora to be sure her maid was awake and able to hear the bell, she forced herself to stand and slowly made her way to the bell pull.

"You're up bright and early, my lady," Brookes began cheerfully a few minutes later, opening the door with Cora's morning cup of tea in her hand. Then her eyes fell on the empty bed, its dark red circle easily apparent in the daylight, and then on Cora, still huddled on the chaise.

"_Oh_, my lady."

Cora could hold her tears back no longer, and with a strangled sob, they began to pour out.

For a second, her maid did not move, and then, as though coming to some sort of decision, Brookes hurried to her and knelt to embrace her.

"My dear child," Brookes murmured. Cora did not flinch at the familiarity; indeed, it almost reminded her of the nanny who had looked after her as a child in New York. She let her head fall against Brookes's chest, sobbing even harder and clutching her maid as though she were drowning.

"I'm sorry," Cora said eventually, remembering herself. She made a halfhearted attempt to sit up, but Brookes held her firmly.

"You've no call to apologize, my lady. You've had a great shock and a terrible loss, and there's no reason you shouldn't cry as much as you need."

She let her tears continue to flow as her maid rocked her. At last she felt she could breathe again, and she straightened.

"I know I killed it," she said softly as she wiped her eyes with Brookes's handkerchief. "And I hate myself for it!"

"My lady, you can't have done anything to cause this."

"I have, though! I did it last night, with all the weeping—I knew that wasn't good for the baby, and now it's gone, all because I let myself get so upset—"

Brookes laid a finger to Cora's lips. "Stop right there, Lady Downton. This has nothing to do with you and your feelings last night. You can't hurt a baby just by crying."

"But I was really upset—"

Brookes shook her head. "No buts, your ladyship. Babes are lost for all sorts of reasons—they're not healthy, there's something wrong with their own make-up, or it just wasn't meant to be. Any number of things might have happened to this child, and none of them were because you yourself were upset. I'll wager you'd already begun to miscarry early in the evening before you'd shed a single tear. It troubled me when you told me how your back was hurting, but I told myself—"

"I should have stayed home, then," Cora interrupted, feeling a new wave of guilt. "I should have rested, and certainly not gotten so upset; I shouldn't have ignored that if it was a warning—"

"That isn't what I meant, my lady," Brookes said gently. "I don't think the pain you felt yesterday was a warning; I think it was the beginning. And if your miscarriage had already started, there was nothing you could have done to stop it, even if you'd just lain down all evening. These things can't be helped, as terrible as that sounds."

Cora said nothing. She wanted to believe her, but she could not fight the feelings that she had carelessly thrown away her first child, and all with Robert's unknowing help.

"Now, let's get you cleaned up, milady. Shall I help you take a bath? Warm water should help with your pain."

Cora nodded, too numb to care. "I've made a mess in the washroom," she said, remembering suddenly. "My nightdress—"

"Never you mind about the mess, ma'am," Brookes said firmly. "I'll see to all that."

As they waited for the bathtub to fill with water, Cora watched Brookes take the soiled clothes away and change the bedsheets. Then she let her maid undress her and help her into the steaming tub, where she wept silently as the last evidence of her baby was washed away. She wondered idly whether it had been a boy or a girl and then quickly stopped herself—the question was easily followed with curiosity about how the child might have looked or sounded or acted and who he or she might have grown up to be, and it was a far too painful line of inquiry. When she had finished her bath, Brookes wrapped her in her nightdress again, helped her back into the bed, and refilled last night's hot water bottle, laying it against her stomach.

"You stay here and rest today, milady," her maid said gently. "Shall I tell Lord Downton what's happened?"

"No, no! He doesn't–he didn't know about the baby. So please don't."

"All right, milady, I'll tell him you've been taken ill. Do you wish to see him? Would you like him to sit with you?"

"No." Cora shook her head, feeling her tears threaten again. She was far too angry to see Robert, and she was angry with herself for that anger. "No, I don't want to see him. I don't want to see anyone. Tell him I don't wish to be disturbed."


	6. Chapter 6

"Really now, this is all getting rather silly," Robert's mother said at luncheon, surveying Cora's empty seat. "It's been three days since we've seen that girl!"

"Cora is ill, Mama," Robert said firmly.

"Ill?" Violet said, the syllable tinged with disbelief. "Ill for three days, and won't see anyone or let the doctor be called? She's no more ill than I am."

In truth, Robert agreed with his mother. He did not believe Cora to be the least bit unwell physically; rather, he blamed her disappearance, and her maid's repeated declarations that "Lady Downton isn't feeling well enough for visitors," on his behavior three nights ago. He had heard her apology in his head a hundred times since: _I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment to you_.

It made him cringe each time he thought of it. Cora could never be a disappointment. Cora was an exquisite, beautiful creature, and it was she who should be disappointed in him.

Robert knew he had finally gone too far in his negligence of her and his attentions to others, and he guiltily wondered how much she knew—or thought she knew—about Viscountess Sandon and Lady Merton. He also wondered how on earth he would ever fix this if she wouldn't see him. But surely Cora would surface at some point?

"Violet, leave the girl be," his father said. "You know the transition's been difficult for her."

"Of course!" Violet exclaimed, giving her husband her most wounded look. "I am merely _concerned _for Cora's welfare. Surely, Robert, you must have some idea what she's up there sulking over?"

"Cora is not _sulking_, Mama." Cora did not sulk. Cora retreated into her shell because he hurt her, because he was so very bad at this marriage business.

"You don't think she's pregnant, do you?" Violet raised her eyebrows, as though the thought had suddenly occurred to her. "Or do you _know _that she's pregnant, Robert?"

"No, Mama," he said, his patience wearing thin, "Cora is _not_ pregnant." She would have told him if she was. She would have been happy—certainly happier than she had been lately.

"Then how ridiculous this all is," his mother muttered under her breath.

"_Violet_," her husband said in a warning tone, and she did not pursue the subject further.

And yet her statement hung in Robert's mind, taking on another meaning than she'd meant to give it. How ridiculous this all was, indeed. Here he sat, three days after wounding his wife grievously, three days after watching her run off into her room in tears, three days after he'd last laid eyes on her, hoping she'd come gliding back into the dining room as though nothing had occurred. It was blindingly clear that Cora was not coming out until he went in after her, and yet he, Viscount Downton, heir to a great estate, was meekly nodding and backing away each time her lady's maid barred his entry. He was her husband, for God's sake. This had all gone too far, and he was going up to see her. Brookes could like it or lump it.

"Please excuse me," he said suddenly, standing.

"Robert…?" his mother began, but he ignored her.

He burst into Cora's room—she was alone, thankfully—to find her seated on the chaise, wearing her dressing gown and holding a book in her hands. She looked up in alarm.

"Robert, I wasn't expecting you," she breathed.

He suddenly had an image of coming upon a frightened, wounded animal in the woods. _Be gentle, _he told himself. "I wanted to see you," he said. When she did not respond, he added, "How are you feeling?"

She seemed to find it a complicated question, and he wondered guiltily if she truly _had _been ill—not with something she'd caught, but ill from having been so upset.

"I'm all right," she said at last. "Just…a bit of a headache."

"I see you're out of bed," he said. "That's a good sign."

For some reason, the statement seemed to pain her, and she closed her eyes.

"Cora?"

"Yes," she said, opening them. "Yes, it is."

"May I sit down?"

Her eyes seemed to grow brighter at the question, and she nodded. "Please."

He had intended to sit in the chair across from her, but the suggestion that she was pleased to have him stay emboldened him, and before he could change his mind, he moved to take a seat on the end of the chaise. Cora pulled her bare feet back to make room for him, but once he was seated, he took hold of her legs and moved them back into his lap. She tensed at the sudden contact and he caressed her calf, trying to calm her. He realized with a jolt that it felt very natural to hold part of her so close to him, and he felt her relax as well.

"I know you're unhappy here," Robert said. He took a deep breath. "And I also know that is my fault." She said nothing, and her silence confirmed his statement. "I'm sorry for that," he went on, the apology tasting strange in his mouth. "And I want to do better. I _will _do better."

She nodded, her eyes downcast. "Robert," she said suddenly, "do you want someone else? Or do you wish you'd married someone else?"

"Good God, Cora, no!" It was all he could do not to physically recoil from the question. "No, I don't wish that! I wouldn't ever wish that. _No._"

"You sound like you really mean that," she said, and he could hear the skepticism in her voice.

"I _do _mean it," he said fervently. "I _do_. I–I still feel like I'm lucky to be married to you." He'd known throughout the season that she'd been pursued by far bigger fish—by men who had much grander titles and much larger estates, and the sense that she could have done better, had she not taken such a wholly undeserved liking to him, had only added to his guilt at having entered into the marriage in the first place. "In fact, I'm still a little surprised you said yes."

"Of course I did," she said softly. "I didn't want any of the other lords. I wanted you."

"I don't want anyone else either," he said, squeezing her foot. "I just want you. I know I don't always…pay as much attention to you as I should," he said awkwardly. "I–I don't mean anything by it, and I don't _like _it, but I'm not always sure…I don't think we know each other very well."

She nodded.

"I want to do something about that," he said, feeling bolder at her agreement. "Because I do want to know you, Cora, and I want to make you happy. I think we should stay home together for a couple months…no more parties, no more Saturday-to-Mondays on someone else's estate…and we'll stay here together while my parents go to London for the season," he invented suddenly. The first step in spending more time with Cora was to actually spend more time with her, in the hope that she would seem less intimidating and less foreign and less confusing to him. It would also help if he could avoid the temptations of more familiar companions.

"We can think of it as something of an extended honeymoon," Robert went on, and then he remembered how difficult their honeymoon had been. "Just less awkward than our _actual_ honeymoon."

There were tears in her eyes, and he held his breath, afraid he'd said something she did not like. And then she gave him a small smile. "I'd like that," she said. "Very much." But then her lips began to tremble, and a tear slipped down her cheek.

He reached up to wipe it away with his thumb. "Cora…"

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I've just…been a bit sad lately. I'm not–I'm not sure why."

"Are you homesick?" He'd heard his father suggest that a time or two.

She looked as though she were about to speak but was then silent for a moment. Finally, she said simply, "Yes, perhaps that's it."

He cupped her cheek with his hand, studying her face and wondering how to soothe her. She stared back, her eyes half frightened and half hopeful.

"Robert," she said after a moment, "would you…could you hold me, just for a minute?"

Hold her! Yes, that was what he was supposed to do; that was what she would want. He shifted closer, reaching out to embrace her, but she surprised him by scooting onto his lap and burying her face against his neck. He felt a wetness there almost immediately and realized she was crying.

"It's all right," he said hesitantly, not sure what it was he was supposed to say. "You'll be all right." They must have been the right words, though, because she tightened her grip on him, and he felt her take a deep breath. Tentatively, he began to rub her back, and she nestled closer. This wasn't so difficult, he thought. It was easier to understand her when she _talked_ to him…and when he _listened_, he admitted guiltily, and actually _tried _to understand her.

She stayed in his arms for far longer than the minute she had asked for, but he did not mind; in fact, he rather liked holding onto her. It occurred to him that _could you hold me _was the only request she had made of him in the three months they had been married. He had heard his friends complain of the many demands of their own wives for jewels and frocks and expensive perfumes. Dickie Merton's wife had recently helped herself to the better part of a month's income to buy herself three Fabergé eggs, and his own mother was never shy in expecting pricey gifts and artwork and was forever wanting a new lady's maid whose services were more costly than the last thanks to continental training in the latest styles. And heaven help you if you married an American heiress: that sort was usually determined to overhaul the entire house, and you hadn't a leg to stand on in refusing her when she'd practically _bought _your estate out from under you.

Yet Cora's sole request had been to be held.


	7. Chapter 7

Time spent with Cora proved to be a stroke of genius, and Robert wondered that he had not done it before. He felt as though he were courting her anew, but courting her this time with an eye to learning about _her_, not about her money or her family or her ambitions. It was not an immediate process, or even a fast one, but he slowly grew to understand her more easily, and she to understand him, and he began to watch in awe as she blossomed under his confidence and attention. Cora was not merely beautiful in her face and her figure; he was soon aware that she had a sweeter spirit than any he had ever encountered, and she was warm and kind and innocent and generous…and it was all accompanied by a backbone of steel that had given her the courage to leave everything she knew. And it was all of these traits combined that had let her go on loving him when she knew the sentiment was not returned, when he had pushed her away again and again.

For she did love him—that much was very clear. That was why she asked not for material things, but for him to hold her or to take her hand, to bring her with him on his rounds of the estate, to wait for her to walk down to dinner together, to sit and talk with her in the evenings, and, eventually, to sleep in her bed. For what she was really asking, he slowly came to understand, was for him to love her.

And Robert was quite powerless to refuse her implicit request, in light of her beauty and her grace and her sweetness, and, most of all, in light of the way she loved him. He was simply not capable of receiving her love for months on end and not feeling his own love grow in return, and thus he found himself falling blissfully head over heels by autumn. And he at last found the words to tell her so at their first anniversary the following February.

Cora, for her part, could not quite believe that she was not dreaming. The child she had been before her wedding had of course believed that Robert would love her, but she had not been able to imagine how glorious it would all be. She had not known what it would be to have Robert whisper that he loved her as they made love together, to fall asleep with his arms around her night after night, to feel his eyes gazing warmly at her a hundred times a day…to hope for a family together, a family born of this great love.

Yet this happiness _did_ feel like a dream, too much like a dream, and thus it seemed to Cora to be a very fragile thing that might shatter if it weren't handled with the utmost care. The story of her miscarriage seemed precisely the sort of thing that would shatter it instantly—she was convinced that the grief would break them if she shared it, and even if it did not, she could not bear to inflict the guilt she knew Robert would feel. And so she recovered on her own, telling herself that it had had nothing to do with either of them, and that if it had, neither of them could have known. It was a tragic accident that she must move on from, for there would be another child, a child that could rest safely in their love.

And soon, of course, there was.

* * *

**April 1889**

"Your mother is getting suspicious," Cora said before he could open _Jane Eyre_.

In the weeks since she had told Robert there would soon be a baby, she'd found herself, much as last year, sick more days than not, returning to her room to rest in the afternoons, or sometimes not rising until luncheon. Yet it was another universe from the spring before: she was never alone now, as Robert was unwilling to leave her if she didn't feel well. She made only the most half-hearted of protests at his frequent excuses to his father to avoid estate business that would take him away at these times. She fell asleep infinitely faster for a nap with Robert curled around her, soothingly stroking her hair, and her nausea was far easier to bear when she lay on the settee with her head in his lap as he distracted her by reading aloud from her favorite novels.

They had taken to her bedroom this morning with the latter in mind, but her mother-in-law's raised eyebrows at their departure and Cora's pale coloring had not been lost on her.

"Why would she be suspicious?" he asked, setting the book down.

"Robert, you may not have a shred of intuition yourself, but that isn't true of your mother. We had might as well tell your family soon."

"If you think it's time…" She could hear the reluctance in his voice at the thought of giving up their secret.

"We could—_oh…_" Another wave of nausea hit her before she could finish her suggestion that they share the news when the newlywed Rosamund and Marmaduke Painswick came to dinner on Saturday. She gripped his knee and closed her eyes, trying to steady herself.

"Are you going to be sick, darling?" She felt his hand on her shoulder, and she held her breath, waiting for her stomach to settle.

"No," she said slowly, opening her eyes as she felt herself adjust to the queasiness. "No, I'm all right. I'm sorry—I know how nervous this makes you."

Cora could not help but smile to herself at the memory of Robert's poorly disguised horror last week when he'd found her vomiting in the washroom in the early morning hours. He had hovered a few feet away, barely able to string his sentences together, clearly torn between a sense that he ought to be sympathetic and an obvious terror of bodily fluids. She'd taken pity on him and dismissed him, telling him to please ring for Brookes, and he'd bolted from the room so fast he might have been on fire. She suspected that, comforting as the position was for her, holding her head on his lap when she was clearly on the edge of vomiting yet again scared him half to death.

"I'm fine," he said primly, and she would have giggled if she hadn't felt so miserable. "Just rest, love." He stroked her hair, and she closed her eyes again, trying to ignore the rolling in her stomach as he began to read the first chapter.

"There was no possibility of taking a walk that day," he began, "We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner (Mrs. Reed, when there was no company, dined early) the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so somber, and a rain so penetrating, that further outdoor exercise was now out of the question." They were familiar words, words she had first read at age twelve in New York and reread many times since. She'd brought this book with her when she and her mother had sailed for England two years ago. How similar this felt to the nagging seasickness of that voyage…

_Focus, _she told herself, trying to ignore the nausea. Robert must have sensed a change in her breathing, for he paused and murmured, "Cora?"

"I'm okay," she said quickly. But he was unconvinced enough to begin slowly rubbing her back, and she tried to focus on the feel of his hand rather than the somersaults going on in her stomach.

"I was glad of it," he went on, returning to Jane. "I never liked long walks, especially on chilly afternoons: dreadful to me was the coming home in the raw twilight, with nipped fingers and toes, and a heart saddened by the chidings of Bessie, the nurse, and humbled by the consciousness of my physical inferiority to Eliza, John, and Georgiana Reed. The said Eliza, John, and Georgiana—"

But another wave had hit her, and before she could push herself up and off his lap, her breakfast was suddenly pouring forth. It was all over in a few quick seconds, and she surveyed the damage as she tried to catch her breath. She'd covered his pants and his shoes. Dear _God_…

"Robert—"

"Are you all right now?" he said, surprisingly evenly. "Do you need to do it again? I can carry you to the washroom, if you'd like."

"No," she said hoarsely. "I think that's all." And she did, actually, feel quite a bit better, in spite of her horror over what she'd done to her husband. "Robert, I'm so sorry. _So _sorry—"

He shook his head. "Don't apologize. You couldn't help it."

"But you're covered in—"

"I know very well what I'm covered in, thank you very much."

She began to giggle.

"I see someone's feeling better. I'll have you know this isn't the least bit funny." But there was warmth in his voice.

"I'll ring for Brookes, and you can get your valet," Cora said, sitting up.

"You'll do no such thing." He laid a firm hand on her knee and then stood. "You're still white as a sheet. Lie down again, and I'll go ring for your maid."

Sitting so quickly had left her a bit lightheaded, but she studied the patterned fabric of the settee suspiciously. "Did I—"

"You didn't get any on the settee," he said. "I think I'm wearing all of it."

She lay back down, smiling as she watched a very filthy Viscount Downton make his way gingerly to the bell pull.

"I love you too, Robert," she said softly, in response to the statement he'd made without words.

* * *

Robert took her hand as dinner drew to a close three nights later, his eyes asking if she was ready. She nodded. They had kept the secret to themselves for a month now, and with Marmaduke and Rosamund in attendance this evening, it seemed to be the right moment.

"Shall we go through?" Violet asked, moving to rise.

"Wait, Mama." Violet raised her eyebrows at Robert's words, and Cora stifled a giggle. Like most of Violet's pronouncements, she knew that the question had been very much a rhetorical one.

"Cora and I have an announcement to make," he continued, and a satisfied smile broke across Violet's face. This, Cora thought, her mother-in-law surely did not mind being interrupted for. "We expect to be parents in the late autumn."

Congratulations poured forth from her father-in-law and Rosamund and her husband, while her mother-in-law nodded sagely. "An heir," Violet said. "There is to be an heir at last."

But Cora ignored the implied criticism of the length of time this had taken, so pleased she was to know that Violet was wrong. This wasn't an heir, at least not first and foremost; it was a baby, a baby they would love and cherish together. And in great contrast to last year, she knew Robert felt the same.

* * *

"They're all so happy," Cora said as Robert climbed into bed beside her. "They're so happy for us."

"They can't be as happy as I am," he said, kissing her forehead as he lay down. He reached a hand out to her. "May I?"

"Of course." She smiled, feeling his hand gently caress her belly, exploring the slight, firm bulge. She could barely see it herself, and only when she was undressed, but his fascination with the feel of it was inexhaustible. She had laughed to herself many times at the thought of how he would be later in her pregnancy, once her belly filled out for the world to see and there was no longer a corset in the way. Would he be able to keep his hands off of her in front of his parents and the servants?

"I've been thinking of names," he said.

"Mmm?" She closed her eyes, relaxing into the feel of his hand.

"For a girl, I've always rather liked Margaret. And Helen or Clara. Or Iris."

"Those are pretty names," she said softly. She had many thoughts of her own on the subject, but she was far too tired to be drawn into debate now.

"And if it's a boy—"

"Robert."

"What?"

"Robert."

"Yes?"

She giggled, opening her eyes. "No, the name 'Robert.' If it's a boy, I want to name it 'Robert.'"

"We can't name him after me."

"Why not?"

"It just isn't…_done_ in the Crawley family. We aren't named for our fathers. We're named for grandfathers or great-grandfathers or…"

"Well, this one will be the first, then. I want it named for you."

He sighed.

Cora rolled onto her side and laid her hand lightly against his cheek. "Please?"

"You can't honestly think I'm going to refuse you while I'm lying in your bed and looking into those eyes."

She kissed him. "Then we can name him Robert?"

"If it would please you."

"It would."

He was quiet for a moment. "So for a daughter…"

"Robert, can we please go to sleep? I'm exhausted."

"Of course, darling. Forgive me—I forget how tired you've been. You both need your rest."

He kissed her forehead then her lips, then wrapped her in his arms. She snuggled closer, thinking, for the thousandth time, how very different this felt than last year, and what a very different family she would bring this baby into.


	8. Chapter 8

**May 1889**

There was no warning this time, no dull, nagging pain to hint at the betrayal her body was beginning. One moment Cora was standing with her mother-in-law and the elderly Dowager Countess of Northbrook at a garden party on Downton's lawn, enduring an excruciatingly boring conversation; the next she was nearly brought to her knees by a sudden pain that ripped through her stomach. She gasped at the sensation, earning raised eyebrows from the old lady and a sharp look from Violet.

"Cora, are you quite—"

"Please excuse me," she murmured, frantically scanning the grounds for Robert, subconsciously believing he could somehow _fix _this. He was nearby, she realized with relief, and she started towards him as quickly as she could.

He spotted her before she reached him, his brows knitting at her panicked expression, and he met her with hurried strides. She seized his arm, grateful for something to lean on.

"There's something wrong," she gasped. "Robert, there's something wrong with the baby. I think I'm…" But all she could do was shake her head, because no further words would come. Something was wrong, but she _was not _losing this child, too. It was not possible.

She could see the fear in his eyes, and without a word, he scooped her up in his arms. "Fetch Dr. Taylor!" he shouted to a nearby footman as he half-ran towards the house. "Tell him to come at once!"

Cora gripped the lapel of Robert's jacket as they sped over the ground, desperate to tell herself the pain in her belly meant something else. And yet she recognized the sensation all too well—it felt just as it had last spring.

This could not be. It simply could not happen again, not to a child they had both loved, not when this baby had been conceived in love and carried in love and surrounded by love. She had been so _happy _this time, so content; indeed, the universe had turned on its head from what it had been last year, and the idea of any sadness occurring in the midst of the world she had built with Robert was incomprehensibly foreign.

A small whimper escaped her as her stomach muscles seized, and she pressed the side of her face against his chest.

"Am I jostling you too much?" she heard him say, and she felt the vibration of his voice against her head.

"No, no," she said. She was so focused on the sensations inside her body that she could barely tell they were moving. "You're not hurting me."

Cora realized when they reached the house that they were trailing a footman, who had followed them away from the party and who opened the front door. Robert whisked her up the main staircase and into her bedroom, shouting orders to the servant to find Brookes immediately and tell her that Lady Downton was unwell.

He set her down on the bed, and she rolled onto her side, curling instinctively around her stomach. "Tell me what's wrong, darling," he said earnestly, bending over her.

"I'm not sure," she whispered. And she wasn't. She _wasn't_. She was determined not to be sure. There _couldn't _be another miscarriage.

"But you're hurting."

"Terribly," she breathed, taking the hand he offered and gripping it tightly. "Oh, it wasn't this bad last time…"

"What?"

She knew instantly what she'd said, but his face thankfully registered nothing more than confusion. She had no energy to explain her words away and could only pray he had not understood.

When she did not respond, he did not ask again, and she realized with relief that he was far too worried to fixate on an unexplained, cryptic comment.

"Dr. Taylor will be here soon," Robert said gently, smoothing her hair. "You'll be all right." But his assurances did not comfort her, because she suspected there was little the doctor could do. She could hear Brookes's words: _If your miscarriage had already started, there was nothing you could have done to stop it. _How she prayed that wasn't true.

And then she heard Brookes's voice for real. "My lord! What's happening here?"

"Lady Downton took ill at the party," Robert said, his voice tight. "She says there's something wrong with the baby."

"What's wrong, milady?" Brookes stepped into Cora's line of side and approached the bed.

"My stomach. It's like…" She looked into her maid's eyes, willing her to hear the words she could not say in front of her husband: _It's like last spring._ And if the grim expression on Brookes's face were any indication, she understood her mistress perfectly.

"The doctor's on his way," Robert said. "Could you help her ladyship undress?"

Brookes moved to the other side of the bed, leaning across it to undo the hooks on the back of Cora's dress and unlace the corset underneath. "Can you stand up, milady?" she asked when she was finished. "You can lean against his lordship while we get these clothes off you…my lord, if you'll help her?"

Robert half-lifted her off of the bed, and she stood shakily, clutching him while he held her waist firmly. She felt Brookes slip her dress off her shoulders, and she let go of Robert long enough to free her arms from the fabric and for her maid to take off the unfastened corset.

"Oh, my lady," she heard Brookes say, sighing with dismay as Cora stepped out of her dress.

Cora frowned, looking down at herself. She saw nothing but her slip and petticoats…

"Step out of these too, ma'am," Brookes said, her voice steady, and Cora obeyed as her maid pulled the petticoat down over her hips.

"Cora…" Robert began. Her name was tinged with dread.

"What is it?" And then she looked back at the lace now in Brookes's arms…the back part of it red with a long smear of blood. Her slip must be covered in it as well…

She pulled away from Robert, horrified. "Don't look!"

"Cora, you're…you're _bleeding_…" He looked as though he were about to be sick, and she realized he would not be quite sure what this meant…only that it was very, very bad.

"Don't look, _please_!" She was mortified for him to see the mess, for she knew how very bloody this would become. "I don't want you to _see _all this!"

"Cora, I…"

"Go! Please go!" He reached for her, and she jerked back. _"No!"_

"Best let her be, my lord," Brookes said softly, intervening at her anguished cry. "I'll look after her ladyship until the doctor arrives."


	9. Chapter 9

_Miscarried._ The awful word hung in the air after Dr. Taylor departed, echoing through the empty library. _Lady Downton has miscarried._

Robert gripped the back of his chair, standing rooted to the carpet.

"You mean, it's…the baby is…_gone_?" he had asked the doctor. This could not be. He had laid his hand against the perfect, healthy bump just last night, listening in awe as Cora had described the brief fluttering, like a butterfly's wings, that she had felt beneath her corset that afternoon. The baby had been _alive_, it had been _moving_… He simply could not understand how a child they had already loved so much could have suddenly ceased to exist, could have slipped from Cora's womb in the space of an hour, giving no warning and leaving not a trace of its life behind.

Robert took a deep breath, fighting to compose himself against the tears he could feel building in his chest. It would not do to go to comfort his wife while he was weeping himself. And he should go, and go now. The heaviness in his chest only grew when he thought of Cora.

"How is she?" he had asked the doctor, frightened of the answer. He had been more frightened for her than for the baby when he had seen the colorlessness of her face as she had clung to his arm on the lawn, and his fear had turned to terror when he had seen the blood on her underclothes.

"Not very well," Dr. Taylor had said.

"Good God—"

"No, Lord Downton. It's nothing serious." He'd felt an overwhelming urge to strike the doctor at such a sentence—he knew what the man meant, that Cora was in no danger, but how could the death of their child be described as _nothing serious_? "The pain's to be expected, but she'll have a difficult night. You'll want to be sure her maid's prepared to sit with her."

The memory of his offense at that comment spurred him out of the library. He wouldn't be leaving Cora to sit with a maid all night.

As Robert trudged up the steps, Cora's words from earlier, words that had been lost in his fear and worry and dread, rushed back into his mind: _It wasn't this bad last time._ Last time what? What hadn't been so bad?

He'd wondered briefly if she'd had pain she had not complained of earlier in the pregnancy, but then Brookes had undressed her and he'd seen the blood and he hadn't been able to wonder about anything anymore. But now Robert had a very unsettling suspicion about what exactly Cora had meant.

He had thought before that it was odd that it had taken Cora a year to fall pregnant. Even before he'd fallen in love with her, they'd been intimate at least a couple nights each week. But he had been assured by his father that sometimes it took time, and he had not breathed a word about it to Cora, not wanting her to take it as criticism.

Yet now he knew. It had not taken a year for Cora to fall pregnant. Cora had been pregnant at least once before, but she had not been pregnant long enough to tell her husband—the husband who did not love her and who avoided her and who barely spoke five sentences a day to her. Then somehow she had lost it, and in the lonely world she had existed in at the beginning of their marriage, she had not been able to tell him that either.

His heart twisted at the thought of his wife suffering alone, grieving alone, thinking she had no choice but to hide such pain. He continued up the stairs with renewed determination. She would not be alone this time.

* * *

Robert entered Cora's bedroom to find her curled in a tight ball on the bed with her back to him, sobbing, and he stopped in the doorway, unsure what to do. He had never, he realized, truly seen her cry before. He had seen tears in her eyes, yes, particularly early in their marriage, and there had of course been the time after the party at Haxby when she had run off weeping, but he had, he was embarrassed to admit, been somewhat relieved when she had shut herself in her room where he had not been forced to navigate her emotions.

But now here she was, sobbing on her bed—_their _bed—and he knew he could not leave her. He did not _want _to leave her.

"Robert?" Her voice cracked on the last syllable, and it spurred him on.

"Cora, darling," he breathed. "Oh, my _darling_." He was no longer wondering what he should do or what he was supposed to do; rather, he knew what he _wanted_ to do, what it made _sense _to do.

He lay down on the bed behind her, fitting his body against hers. "Oh darling," he whispered again, swallowing the lump in his throat as he kissed her shoulder and her neck. "Cora, my love."

She snuggled back against him, and he wrapped his arm around her waist, his hand coming into contact with something warm. After a moment's confusion, he realized it was a hot water bottle that she was clutching against her belly, and he thanked God for Brookes or whoever it had been who had thought to bring her that small comfort.

"What can I do?" he whispered. "Can I do anything to help you?"

She shook her head, and he kissed her neck again. After a moment, she spoke through her tears. "My back…could you press your fists against my lower back? I think pressure would help…"

He did as she asked, immediately feeling the painful tightness in the muscles. "Tell me if I hurt you." She nodded and he slowly began to dig his fingers in, rubbing firm circles as he tried to break the spasms.

He was grateful for something productive to do to ease her pain, for a physical task to focus his thoughts on. It distracted him from the unanswerable question relentlessly pounding through his mind of _why _this had happened, and from the terrible images of Cora lying here alone at some unknown date in the past, suffering in silence.

Slowly, he felt her muscles begin to loosen under his hands, and her sobs grew softer and less frequent, her breathing eventually taking on the evenness of sleep. When he was sure she had drifted off, he carefully wrapped his arm around her again, drawing her close and taking comfort in her nearness.

And then at last Robert began to cry himself, burying his silent tears in her hair.


	10. Chapter 10

Cora awakened slowly when the dressing gong rung, unsure for a moment what she was doing in bed. And then she felt the sharp pain in her middle as she blinked the sleep from her eyes, felt the weight of Robert's arm around her, and she remembered.

Remembered the garden party, and the too-familiar sensation she had suddenly felt. Remembered being carried back to the house by Robert, remembered being undressed and then bleeding in front of him, remembered the doctor's visit. Remembered Dr. Taylor's awful diagnosis. And remembered Robert coming and holding her afterwards.

"Darling?" she heard Robert say softly, and the sound of his voice confirmed that she was awake, that this was real, that there would be no going back to sleep and waking to a different world.

Wincing at the movement, she slowly rolled over to look at him. She was momentarily surprised to see the outline of tears on his own cheeks, but why should she be surprised, she asked herself? It had been his child as well. "Robert…" She reached up to touch the faint tracks, comforted by the realization that she did not grieve alone.

He took her hand in his and kissed it. "How are you feeling?"

How was she feeling? Empty. Heartbroken. Lost.

She merely shook her head in response and moved closer to press her face against his throat and chest. Thank God he was here. Thank God she was not alone again. She wasn't sure how she'd ever borne this by herself.

"Oh, darling," he said, his voice strained. He kissed her hair. "Can I do anything for you? Do you want more hot water? Do you need me to rub your back again?"

"Just hold me," she said, and his arms went around her immediately. She knew he'd be leaving to dress before long, and she would rather have his last minutes spent easing the pain in her heart rather than that in her body. "I know you've got to go soon."

"Go? Go where?"

"To dinner…wasn't that the gong?"

"Dinner! I'm not dressing and going down for dinner. Heavens, Cora."

"You mean, you'll stay here? You'll stay with me?"

"Of course I'll stay with you. We'll eat here." She opened her mouth to protest that she was not hungry, but he shook his head. "No, you should eat. I'll ring for your maid later to bring us both trays."

She snuggled closer to him, as though if she could only get close enough, his touch would heal the hole in her heart. "I'm glad you're here," she whispered, almost to herself.

* * *

The statement was a painful reminder that she had grieved alone last time. "Of course I'm here," Robert said wistfully. What he wouldn't give to turn back the clock and live the last year over, getting it right this time and loving Cora as she had always deserved.

"Robert, is something…is there something else?" she said, and he knew she'd sensed that there was more to his anguish than sorrow over the baby. "Tell me. Tell me what you're thinking."

He hesitated. It did not seem right to remind her of past tragedies. "I don't want to upset you," he said at last.

"Robert, it won't upset me to know what you're feeling. Please tell me."

Then again, was there any time more natural to ask than now? "You said something earlier," he said, his words coming quickly as he hurried to speak before he could change his mind. "Something about how…how it wasn't so bad last time. And I wondered…I wondered what you meant."

"I–I'm not sure why I said that," she said, and he could hear the trepidation in her voice. "I don't know what I meant."

If he'd had any doubts before, they were gone now. "I think I know what you meant," he said. "I think you've—I think this has happened before. I think…I think there was another child."

"It doesn't mean I can't carry a baby to term," she said quickly. "I asked Dr. Taylor, and he says there's no reason I can't have a healthy baby. I can still give you an heir."

Her words hit him like a slap. Did she think he was merely concerned for the family line? It was perhaps sensible to wonder about her ability to bear children, but the thought had not crossed his mind. "I am not worried," he said firmly, "about not having an heir. What troubles me is that you suffered through this alone."

"Brookes looked after me. She was very kind."

Having a maid to help her was not at all what he had meant. "Cora…"

After a moment's silence, she suddenly said, "It was horrid to wake up alone." He heard tears in her voice, and he tightened his grip on her. "It was the middle of the night, and I had no way to call anyone, and I knew you were right next door and I didn't want you to hear…"

How long had she lain here, knowing what was happening to her and too unsure of him to risk making a sound? How _frightened _she must have been, and how her heart must have been breaking.

"Why couldn't you _tell_ me?" He knew the answer well enough, but the anguished question burst forth all the same. "Why didn't I even know you were pregnant?"

She paused. "It was very early in our marriage."

He knew she meant to spare his feelings with her vagueness, but he heard the unspoken subtext clearly: _You didn't love me then._

"Cora, I am so sorry…"

"It wasn't your fault," she said softly.

"When…when did this happen?" How disorienting to think of what had gone on just a room away as he'd slept.

He felt her stiffen at the question. "Robert, let's not talk about this anymore. It doesn't matter when it happened. It did, and it's over now. I can't—I can't think about it now. I can't mourn both our children in the same day."

"Of course not, darling." He kissed her forehead. "Forgive me."

And yet the question would not leave his mind.


	11. Chapter 11

They had turned the lights out early, as it was clear that Cora's body was exhausted, and she had fallen asleep quickly. She had wept again in the evening, and Robert could see the wetness glistening on her cheeks in the moonlight as she slept. There was a single tear hovering on her right eyelash, and he moved to brush it away but thought better of it, afraid to wake her. Her maid had given her a glass of whiskey mixed with a bit of the laudanum Dr. Taylor had left, and Robert hoped she would sleep through the night.

Had it been this painful for her before? he wondered, his eyes taking in the hot water bottle she had asked him to refill. Even in her sleep, she was pressing it tightly against her stomach.

Cora moaned softly, and he lightly smoothed his hand over her hair, trying to calm her and hoping she would not wake. She murmured at his touch and then settled.

It troubled him immensely not only that she had previously miscarried alone, but that he had been clueless enough that even now, he had absolutely no idea when it might have been. It was a testament to how unhappy she had been early in their marriage that he had evidently missed any signs of grief, so common was a sorrowful expression on her face.

Had he been kind to her, after it had happened? He hoped so, desperately, but he suspected he had treated her with the boorish neglect that had quickly become his habit in those early months.

* * *

It became clear in the coming days that there would have been more to her first miscarriage than simply sadness. Cora spent the rest of the week in her room, lying in bed for two days as she recovered and then moving to lounge on the chaise. She was tired and weak and sore, and he realized that surely it would have been similar last time.

But she hadn't ever been ill in the first months of their marriage, had she? Not that he could recall…and then, suddenly, he remembered. Cora had been ill, or had claimed she was, taking to her room for a few days last spring. It was immediately after that party at Haxby Park, the one where she had come home in tears and then shut herself in her bedroom, and it had been three days before he had seen her again.

But that didn't make sense. He had known why she'd shut herself away, why she'd said she was ill. She was, quite naturally, avoiding him, after he'd spent another party in other women's arms. She'd been upset, and thus she had wanted to be left alone. It would be a strange coincidence for her to have miscarried when she was already tucked away in her room.

And then Robert realized that perhaps it hadn't been a coincidence at all. She had come home from the party upset, burst into tears, and run off to her bedroom, where she'd doubtless cried for hours. Had that…triggered something? He'd always been taught that expectant mothers were delicate creatures in a delicate condition, and that they should avoid great upset or excitement.

Now he knew why. Cora had been newly pregnant when he'd taken her to Haxby, and then he'd carelessly hurt her, and she'd come home weeping, with the result that she'd lost the small life inside of her that night. She'd then stayed in her room for the next couple days not because she was avoiding him, but because she was recovering from a miscarriage that she was desperate to hide.

_God, no, _he thought instantly, desperate to tell himself she'd been ill at another time he couldn't remember, or that perhaps she had not been quite so far along last time, and thus her recovery had been much quicker and not lasted for days on end. _Please, _he begged whomever might be listening. _Please let me be wrong._ Yet he could not quiet his suspicions, and he finally told himself that he must ask her.

* * *

"Why don't we sit down?" he offered. They were strolling the grounds together the next week, the first time he had taken Cora outside since her miscarriage.

"I'm all right," she said immediately, giving him the small smile that had often reproached his overprotectiveness in recent days.

"It's not that," he said. Or rather, not only that, for he did want her to rest. "I want to talk to you about something."

Robert felt her arm stiffen slightly in his as he guided her to a small stone bench, and he laid a reassuring hand over hers. _Don't ask her, _a small voice said suddenly. _Leave her be, leave _it _be._ But he knew he had to know.

"Cora," he began as they sat down, "I need you to tell me when you…the first time you…" He couldn't bring himself to say the words, but the trembling in her hands demonstrated that she understood him.

"Early. I told you, early. It doesn't matter exactly when."

"I think it does," he said. "I think it does matter."

"Don't press me on this, Robert. Please."

"Did it happen the night of the party at Haxby?" he blurted out, and Cora started.

_"Robert," _she whispered, a whisper that told him the answer. It was, of course, nothing more than what he had already suspected, but the confirmation was like a punch in the stomach, and for a moment he could not breathe.

"I'm sorry," he said, and he immediately felt the inadequacy of the phrase. "God, Cora, I'm so sorry."

"Please don't be sorry," she said, her voice soft. "I don't want you to blame yourself."

But he did blame himself, and he _should _blame himself. He'd been horrible to her that night—not intentionally, but horrible all the same. His own youthful, boorish stupidity had caused the death of their first child. He'd been hopelessly, inexcusably careless with Cora, and in so doing, he'd put her through the horror he'd witnessed last week. It was not only that he had left her to suffer alone: now he knew that her suffering had been at his own hand. For the hundredth time, he imagined his wife, frightened and heartbroken, curled up in agony in her bed, unable to call for help…only this time, he knew that it had not been a tragic accident. _He _had done this to Cora.

"I'm the one that caused it," he said, half to himself and half to her. "I know I upset you that night—I was…I was so careless, and—oh, _God, _I was stupid!" His voice cracked on the last word, and he quickly swallowed his tears.

"You were not stupid, Robert," Cora said evenly. "We were two very young people who barely knew each other and who did not know a thing about marriage."

There were no excuses, and he did not deserve this forgiveness. "I should have gone after you when we got home. I shouldn't have left you alone in your room. And I should have gone looking for you earlier at the party; I should have—"

"Robert, there are a million 'should's' about the first months of our marriage. I should have told you I was pregnant—"

"I shouldn't have made it so hard for you to tell me."

She sighed. "It doesn't matter now. We don't know why I lost that baby. Miscarriages happen for all sorts of reasons, or for no reason at all. Like last week—I wasn't the least bit upset. And suddenly…" She shook her head. "It had nothing to do with either of us. The first one probably didn't either."

_"Probably," _he repeated darkly.

"Robert, darling, we can't know."

He shook his head, unwilling to hear it anymore, and turned away, pressing his hand to the bridge of his nose in an effort to keep from weeping in front of her.

"My dear man," she murmured, her voice soothing, and he felt her hand begin to stroke his hair. "I know how it is to blame yourself—when I woke up that night and found the…evidence, I told myself it was my fault for getting so upset the night before. But that doesn't lead anywhere, Robert, and you mustn't do it to yourself. You _mustn't_."

The grace she was extending only sharpened his grief, and his tears began to fall.

"Shh," she whispered. She scooted closer on the bench, wrapping her arm around him. She laid her head against his shoulder and kissed his neck, her lips remaining pressed against it. _"Shh."_

"I love you," he said, after a long moment had passed. It seemed such a paltry offering, but he knew it was the only thing he could give Cora that would ever have any meaning to her.

"I know," she said simply, kissing his damp cheek. "And I love you, too."

He did not deserve that, he thought as he embraced her. He did not deserve her affection or even her regard, much less her love. He had never deserved the love she had offered openly and willingly, the heart she had handed him freely, long before he had ever thought to love her. Why had he been such a fool, for it to take him so long?

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry I—"

"Shh," she said again, holding him tightly. "The beginning doesn't matter now."

But it did matter, he thought, kissing her. It mattered because it made him vow to love her more, love her so much that he might make up for those early months.

* * *

AN: Thanks to all my reviewers and readers for joining me for this story! I've got a lot going on right now, so I'm going to take a mini-break from writing (but I'll still be around reading), and I'm sure I'll have another story up at some point! :-)


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